


and like a speeding car (you want more, more, more)

by mardia



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Marking, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-29
Updated: 2010-09-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7087084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 'Uhura Is Awesome' ficfest for <a href="http://where-no-woman.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://where-no-woman.livejournal.com/">where_no_woman</a>, and fills this prompt: <i>McCoy likes to get down on his knees.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	and like a speeding car (you want more, more, more)

**Author's Note:**

> Major thanks to kmousie for betaing!

Nyota has to admit, this is not how she planned their first date to go.

Not that she’s complaining. At all.

“Oh God,” she says faintly as McCoy works two fingers into her, his tongue licking against her clit. McCoy takes no notice, just keeps methodically taking her apart with his mouth and his hands, until, try as she might, Nyota can’t help but sink her hands into his thick, glossy dark hair, tugging on it as her hips rise helplessly.

McCoy doesn’t protest, doesn’t use his hands to hold her hips down or tug her hands away from his hair, he just keeps sucking on her clit until she’s gasping wordlessly at the ceiling, breathless and out of control.

It just drives her on even more, until she’s got one of her bare legs hooked over his shoulder, groaning out curses in Andorian, Tellarite, in practically every language she can think of—which isn’t even close to being all the languages she knows, it’s just that she can’t _think_ —

She comes with a cry that she can’t even try to stifle, and blinks rapidly at the ceiling while she tries to catch her breath.

“Oh my God,” she finally croaks out, still feeling the aftershocks—spurred on by McCoy’s tongue, the slow gentle licks that are still making her tremble, over-sensitized as she is. She manages to loosen her grip on his hair with a pang of guilt—saying breathlessly, “You don’t have to—“

McCoy finally lifts his head, his mouth and chin wet. “I know I don’t have to. I _want_ to. Now, if you don’t mind—” and then Nyota goes still for a moment, but McCoy’s licking at her again and it feels so good—

So she sighs and relaxes once more, because his mouth feels too good for her to do anything but enjoy it, and she does, oh, how she does.

McCoy coaxes two more orgasms from her, and by the time he’s through, her voice has gone hoarse, her toes are starting to cramp because she’s been curling them so hard, and she feels wrung out in the very best sense, absolutely sated. “Oh my God,” she says again to the ceiling.

McCoy chuckles into her bare hip. “I’ll take it to mean you enjoyed that.”

Nyota has to laugh, ducking her head down to look at his flushed face and wet mouth and chin. “Uh, yeah, you could say that.”

Looking at him now, Nyota can’t help but think this is a pretty fantastic way to end—or rather, continue—a first date.

She smiles and says, still a little breathless, “C’mon. Get up here so I can return the favor.” She likes the thought of it, of McCoy going crazy beneath her hands, feeling the weight of his cock on her tongue.

McCoy’s flush gets a little deeper, and he says, “Uh…that favor’s already been returned.” She stares at him, uncomprehending, until she realizes that while he was getting her off, he was also doing the same for himself

“Get up here anyway,” she urges, and McCoy slides back up. She’s acutely aware that he’s still mostly clothed, while she’s not wearing a thing, and that seems wildly unfair. So she helps him out of his clothes, dragging his shirt over his head, and working him out of his pants and boxers.

Once he’s naked, Nyota drags him in for a long, hot kiss, licking the taste of herself out of his mouth, and somehow, they shift until he’s lying back on the bed, and she’s hovering over him. When she finally pulls back, his eyes are soft as he looks up at her, and he looks more relaxed than Nyota’s ever seen him.

She smiles down at him. “Hi,” she says simply. She throws a leg over his hips and admits, “I’m not sure I want this evening to be over just yet.”

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Nyota says, rocking her hips down. “Think you can help me with that?”

His answering smile is gorgeous, and more than a little mischievous. “Yeah,” he drawls. “I could manage.”

*

That’s how it starts, and it continues from there easily enough. Even though Nyota had a good feeling about this from the beginning, it still surprises her how easy their relationship is, how well they work together. Despite the gruff demeanor, McCoy is surprisingly—or maybe not so surprisingly—considerate, picking up on her moods and letting her be quiet when she needs to be, or providing a distraction with his grumbling when she needs that too.

It just works, effortlessly, and she doesn’t feel the need to analyze it too closely.

The sex, needless to say, is fantastic. It’s not just that it’s good—she’d known it would be—it’s that McCoy makes it a point of pride to figure out how to turn her into a quivering mess, gone hoarse from shouting out his name.

And he’s apparently figured out that the easiest way to accomplish his objective is to slide gracefully to his knees, and suck on her clit until she can’t remember her own name.

It’s gotten to the point where even just the sight of McCoy on his knees, head tilted up to look at her, _gets_ to her in a deep and immediate way that she couldn’t have predicted. She’ll get turned on just from thinking about it, about McCoy on his knees, all wide eyes and soft, inviting mouth.

It’s impossible to resist. Impossible for Nyota to not spread her legs that much wider, for her to keep from sinking her hands into his thick hair, her fingers following the curve of his skull, holding him close as he fucks her with his tongue.

McCoy never tries to resist or push back, just gives and gives until she’s nearly screaming with it, and once she’s sated, he rises slowly to his feet, tongue flickering out to lick at his wet mouth until she pulls him into a desperate kiss.

“I’m learning a whole new vocabulary just listenin’ to you,” McCoy rumbles once, right before pressing a soft kiss right below her hipbone. “ ‘Course, I’m pretty sure I can’t use any of it in polite company.”

Nyota had managed to catch her breath long enough to say, “You’d better not,” to his crooked smile.

And even though he seems to like keeping the focus on her—to put it mildly—it works well for them both, and Nyota’s not really seeing a reason to try and change things up.

Of course, things end up changing anyway.

*

They haven’t had a moment to themselves for the last week. There’s an important first-contact mission that absolutely has to go off well, according to both Kirk and the Admiralty, and a lot of that burden is on Nyota and her Communications staff, who are there to make sure that no translations lead to an intergalactic incident and the Xilani somehow not joining the Federation.

Nyota doesn’t have a single moment for herself, let alone for McCoy, who understands and gives her the necessary space to get her best work done. She hardly sees him at all, except for the official state dinners, where she’s too busy working with Kirk and Spock to cultivate the closest possible relationship with the Xilani leaders.

She knows he understands. She knows she’s being professional and doing the right thing, and she actually wouldn’t do anything differently right now, because she loves her job, loves how good she is at her job.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t miss being around him. It doesn’t mean that when the mission’s over, she’s not happy to find him and drag him back to her quarters and pull him to her the very second the door closes behind them.

From the way he’s kissing her back, Nyota’s fairly confident that McCoy’s missed her just as much.

“Get these clothes _off_ ,” Nyota says against his mouth, her hands tugging at his blue shirt and black undershirt—really, _two_ shirts, today of all days?

“Yes, _ma’am_ ,” McCoy drawls against her mouth, and she pulls back to give him a mock glare.

“And don’t call me ma’am,” she replies, stepping away just far enough to let him pull his shirts over his head. He makes quick work of the rest of his clothes, his boots and pants and boxers flying somewhere else in the room—where exactly, Nyota couldn’t care less.

When they finally tumble onto the bed, he’s naked and she’s still mostly clothed, her dress rucked up around her stomach, her underwear missing, still wearing one of her boots.

McCoy finally tears his mouth from hers, panting out, “Wait—wait a minute, just _wait_ —”

“No,” Nyota snaps back, her fingers pressing into the warm skin of his back. “Come on, right now, just like this, just like—”

And like always, he follows her lead, two fingers sinking hastily into her to make sure she’s ready, and then he’s replacing them with his cock, and Nyota groans loudly, clutching at him as he presses into her.

“This what you want?” McCoy grits out, his breath hot on her face as he keeps thrusting shallowly, like he can’t even help himself.

Nyota digs her fingers in even harder as she snaps out, desperate, “ _Yes_ , God, now _move_ —”

And he does as she asks, immediately, even as she’s arching her hips and demanding more, he keeps following her movement, falling into the hard and fast rhythm that she wants until she’s gone wordless, gasping soundlessly as McCoy fucks into her.

Nyota knows she’s scratching at his back, and if she could just unclench her fingers, if she were just a little less out of control, she might try and stop, but McCoy’s not flinching or crying out in pain, he’s just kissing her and groaning into her mouth as he drives into her even harder.

Finally, she comes, arching her back and clenching around him, letting out a stuttering cry, digging her nails in that much more before finally letting go, and sinking back into the bed. She strokes his back as he keeps thrusting, once, twice, finally coming inside her with a long groan.

After a few moments, McCoy pulls himself from her, falling back on the bed with a long sigh, only to arch back up. “Ah, better put something on these—”

It’s not until he turns his back to her that she realizes what he’s talking about, and a shocked hiss escapes her as she stares.

“Oh my God, Len—“

“No big deal,” McCoy assures her, turning his head as she gingerly touches his back with her fingertips, right above one of the angry red lines running across his skin. “I just need to put some disinfectant on them, they won’t even scar, trust me.”

“You should have told me I was doing it,” Nyota insists, dropping her hand so she can pull the sheet up to her chest. “I would have stopped.”

“I told you, it’s fine.”

Nyota’s not convinced. “At least get out the regenerator so they can heal.”

But to her surprise, McCoy hesitates, and then finally says, “There’s no need, they’ll heal fine on their own.” Nyota’s frown deepens as he turns to face her, and she’s about to protest again when he says, “Nyota, it’s fine, really. Just…just leave it.”

She’s not at all satisfied by this, but she does as he asks, helping him put the disinfectant on the scratches he can’t reach—God, there are so _many_ , and she didn’t even realize—with a light touch.

That night, McCoy falls asleep on his stomach, and when Nyota wakes up in the morning, her hand is resting on the back of his neck, her fingers just brushing against his hairline.

*

For the rest of the day, Nyota can’t stop thinking about it. Her mind keeps lingering on the thought of those bright red lines hidden beneath McCoy’s science-blue shirt, if it hurts him to move a certain way, if he can still feel the sting of her nails raking his back as he moved on top of her, inside her.

The part that’s tripping her up isn’t how much she’s thinking about it, but rather the hot little sparks that go off inside her when she does.

So late that night in her quarters, when they’re both off-duty, she brings it up, moving to the bed and straddling his waist as she hesitantly asks, “The scratches I left on your back…is that about the pain? Or—or is it something else?”

McCoy licks his lips, and for a long moment, Nyota’s sure he’s not going to answer. Then finally, not quite looking at her as he says it, he admits, “I just like what you do to me. I like _whatever_ you do to me.”

She almost asks for clarification, but McCoy’s eyes have finally met hers, silently asking her to get it, and suddenly she does.

“And if,” she says, slowly, the images appearing in her mind even as she speaks, “—if I held you down, and made you hold still while I,” she’s good with languages, but the words stick in her throat for a moment, “—while I just… _took_ whatever I wanted…”

McCoy swallows but meets her gaze and says, frankly, “I’m not gonna stop you. I’m not gonna _want_ to stop you.”

And those words _hit_ , in a way she’s not expecting, they flare up hot inside her as they echo in her brain, _what you do to me, whatever you do._ Taken on their own, without any context, they’d be read as a warning, but with the right context, with the way McCoy’s looking at her right now, the way he’d stressed _whatever_ —it’s an invitation. A request.

An offer Nyota realizes she has no intention of refusing.

So, with a deep breath, she shifts in his lap until she’s pinning him to the bed. “Okay,” she tells him, and it really is.

*

It takes her very little time to adjust to this new state of affairs.

If Nyota’s honest, it takes her practically no time at all.

She’s always been good with words, except that she doesn’t _have_ words for this, for how she feels seeing McCoy like this, sinking gracefully to his knees before her as she sits in her desk chair, seeing him stretched out on her bed, his voice rough as he pleads with her for more. It’s not just that she loves watching him get turned on, it’s that she just loves _doing_ this to him, period—loves how she feels, loves how she can make him feel, loves to hold him down and just _take_ what she wants. Whatever she wants.

*

“Nyota,” McCoy murmurs brokenly against her kiss-swollen mouth, his breath hitching as she rocks down on him once more. “Nyota, baby, you’ve gotta let me—you’ve got to—”

“No,” she disagrees, even as she grinds down, even as she slips a hand between them to rub at her clit. The helpless noise McCoy makes as her fingers barely brush his cock sends a happy shiver down her spine, and she corrects him, “I really don’t have to. Not until I want you to come, and I don’t—not just yet.”

If her own voice has gone breathy, she thinks she can be forgiven, under the circumstances.

“Please,” he says once more, and Nyota just shakes her head, even as she leans in to kiss him once more, and then again because she wants to, because she can’t help herself, because it’s what they both want. Because whenever he says please, what he really means is keep going, and Nyota is always more than happy to oblige.

*

Nyota’s never cared to advertise it, but yes, she does have a collection of sex toys. Really, she roomed with Gaila for four years at the Academy. It would have been nearly impossible not to come away with at least a vibrator or two, particularly once Gaila had been introduced to the old Terran tradition of Christmas and giving gifts on birthdays.

She turns her plan over in her mind for a day or so, and then comes out and asks when they’re both in her quarters.

“How do you feel about prostate stimulation?” Nyota asks, taking out her small chest and setting it on the bed, where McCoy was, until she’d asked her question, reading a medical journal on his PADD.

McCoy looks at her over the screen, eyebrows crooking up in surprise for a moment, and then he responds, “Depends on who’s doing the stimulation, but if you’re asking if I like getting fucked—”

“Yes,” Nyota says calmly. “That’s what I’m asking.”

“Then yeah, I like it. Why?” McCoy’s already eyeing the chest, though, and she knows he’s got an idea of what she has planned.

She flips the lid open, and says evenly, “Because I want to tie you up and fuck you with one of my vibrators.” McCoy’s eyes go wide, and Nyota adds, sweetly, “If you don’t mind, that is.”

McCoy’s already starting to flush, but he carefully sets his PADD down on the nearby bedside table. “What are you planning to use—rope? Cuffs?”

Nyota finally cracks the smile she’s been holding back, reaching into the chest, and pulling out the belt she’d taken from McCoy’s closet the day before. “I was thinking about this, actually.”

McCoy’s eyes go dark as he sees his own belt dangling from her hand, and Nyota knows he’s not going to say no.

Once McCoy’s naked and facedown on her bed, groaning into her pillow, hands bound behind his back, Nyota pulls the vibrator nearly completely out of him and asks, all fake-solicitation, “Len? Do you want me to stop?”

McCoy groans, sounding absolutely _wrecked_ as he begs, “Oh God, don’t, don’t _stop_ —”

“Shh,” Nyota soothes, sinking the vibrator back in, as deep as it will go, right where he wants it. “It’s all right,” she promises, bending over him so she can whisper in his ear, press her body all along his back, his tied-up hands. “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

Then she moves away, turning him over onto his back and ignoring his dazed protests, as she explains, straddling his thigh, “Just as soon as I get what I want first.”

And she grinds down against his thigh until sparks are going off behind her eyelids. McCoy’s gone completely incoherent, the vibrator still buzzing inside of him, and she relents and slides a hand down to jerk him off until he’s coming in her hand. Nyota sets her teeth and comes, hips pressed down hard, her free hand gripping the sheets.

When she opens her eyes, McCoy’s staring up at her, eyes wide with shock and very green; Nyota blinks, feeling a little unsure for maybe the first time that evening. “Len?” she asks, careful. “Are you all right?”

McCoy laughs, a little unsteady but still real and honest, dimples flashing, and he assures her, “Oh, I’m more than all right,” his voice still husky, and Nyota grins in relief sliding off him so she can get the vibrator out, so she can turn him around and get the belt off his wrists. McCoy sighs in relief, rubbing at his wrists and flexing his fingers, but he looks so relaxed and happy, and when Nyota presses against him, he immediately opens her arms to pull her in close, kissing the top of her head as he does.

*

“So,” Gaila says around a mouthful of kilaua fruit, “—how are things with you and Leonard going?”

Nyota pauses, her fork in midair, before saying, “They’re going fine. Better than fine.” Gaila blinks at her, encouraging, obviously waiting for more details, and it’s not like Nyota doesn’t have them, it’s just—

It’s just that Nyota still doesn’t quite know how to say, out loud, _I like tying my boyfriend up and finding new ways to make him beg, and the only thing that’s throwing me off is how much I did not see this coming._

Then again, it’s Gaila. If Nyota can’t say it to her, then who is she going to say it to? So, in a low voice—Nyota’s not a prude but she doesn’t particularly want the details of her sex life becoming cannon fodder for the Enterprise’s gossip mill—she says that exact sentence to Gaila, and then leans back and waits for her reaction.

Gaila’s response is immediate. “Oh, _awesome!_ ” she says, heartfelt. “That is _so_ awesome, Nyota,” and Nyota can’t help the little smile that tugs at the corners on her mouth, because yes, she realizes, it is kind of awesome.

“You know,” Gaila says, and that’s her wheedling voice, so Nyota’s immediately on guard, “—shore leave’s coming up pretty soon, and we’re all going to have free time on our hands—”

“Yeah,” Nyota says dryly, “—seeing as that’s the definition of shore leave.”

Gaila brushes off her sarcasm, as usual, and offers, voice bright, “I’m saying that you could totally borrow my riding crop or floggers, if you wanted. I’d totally sanitize them beforehand, promise.”

Nyota’s eyes go wide and without thinking, she says quickly, “ _No_ , Gaila.” Then she thinks about it for a second, and that’s how, later that evening when they’re off-shift—and McCoy’s working a late shift in sickbay—Nyota ends up getting a lesson in the proper techniques for flogging, caning, and several other practices Gaila figures she should be properly educated on—“just in case!” Gaila throws out with a merry smile, and Nyota doesn’t disagree.

It always pays to be well-rounded.

*

Shore leave’s approaching, and Kirk’s still being annoyingly tight-lipped and smug about where it’s going to take place, so Nyota doesn’t actually know where it’ll be until McCoy comes into their quarters—they’d finally given up pretenses and moved in together a few weeks ago—telling her with a smile, “So, I finally got Jim to spill about where we’re all gonna be for shore leave. How do you feel about a week on Risa?”

“You’re kidding,” she says, amazed. “How on earth did Kirk manage to arrange that?”

McCoy shrugs. “Don’t ask me. But it sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”

Yeah. It sounds pretty good to her. Particularly since Nyota has no intention of leaving their hotel room for at least the first two days. Maybe three.

*

Nyota begins her first day on Risa with Gaila going on a shopping expedition, and ends it in her hotel room with McCoy, holding her latest purchases in her hand.

McCoy takes one look at the strap-on and accompanying harness, and asks simply, a spark in his dark eyes, “How do you want me?”

Nyota exhales. “Hands and knees,” she replies, and without any further discussion, McCoy starts taking his clothes off, stripping with an easy grace that sets off sparks in her brain, in the pit of her stomach. Once he’s on the bed, head bowed, Nyota quietly approaches the bed and just looks at him for a long moment, saying in a quiet voice, mostly to herself, “God, you’re perfect.”

McCoy turns her head to look at her, his face open, and says, “I could say the same about you.” He holds her gaze for a second and finally smiles. “Now, you gonna fuck me with that strap-on or what?”

“Yeah,” Nyota says with a smile. “I could manage.”

End.


End file.
